Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's Bête Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com

Wednesday, June 08, 2005


Heard 2 songs in a row on the radio tonight that have personal associations.

First, that novelty instrumental cheery muzak hit “Music Box Dancer,” from the late ‘70s. A tune I hated until that year, ‘84 or ‘85, when I lived with 3 friends in a rental house with a piano, and everybody in the house played it. Jeff H, a music theory major, played it best. A neighbor, a man in his 30s who, if I remember correctly, lived with his parents and had a cognitive impairment, would come over with the sheet music for “Music Box Dancer.” Jeff would play it, and the neighbor would lean on the top of the upright piano with his chin in his hand, and have the sweetest, dreamiest expression while he listened. And I couldn’t hate the tune any more.

Second, “Sitting on the Dock of the Bay,” Otis Redding. At one point while I worked in Seattle’s roughest, biggest shelter from ‘91 to ‘93, located at the corner of Crack Alley and the original historic Skid Row, two clients would sing that song in the sweetest, most perfect harmony while one of them played fine rhythm guitar. I’m pretty sure that at least one of them had a serious crack problem. They were in their 30s and appeared to be in decent mental and physical health. They sang like angels. “Just to make this dock my home.”
I believe that same neighbor would say to JeffH: "Can you play finiculi finicula?"
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